


Rougher

by TheDistantDusk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mild Kink, sex and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDistantDusk/pseuds/TheDistantDusk
Summary: "Ohmygod," Harry blurts, jolting back as if she's shocked him. "I'm SO sorry! I--""Do it again."





	Rougher

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a little kinky, but I promise it's not too crazy! Based on the combination of a Tumblr prompt and a challenge on the Harry/Ginny Discord and Subreddit. 
> 
> Thanks to Kmi who proofread, Flo who told me it wasn't garbage, and Goods who loosely suggested the "Harry and Ginny met in a bar" challenge.

They’ve spent a year making love. Slowly. _Passionately._ The sort where you stare into each other’s eyes through choked vows and clenched fists. The sort that reduces you to trembling limbs and panting gasps. The sort that bathes you in warmth from the inside out as it chases the shadows of sadness away.

But the second Harry sees her in the bar, he knows tonight will be different. Ginny greets him with a long stare, her eyes lidded with drink, and even though he can’t put his finger on it, Harry instinctively knows that something is about to change.

They’ve more or less lived together since she’s finished school — which really means she’s lived with him. Apart from this week, anyway. She’s here with her team after a brutal week of conditioning kept her up until well into the night, every single night, for the last seven days. Harry’d anticipated she’d just crash at the Burrow.

What he isn’t anticipating, though, is the way she ignores her team the second she sees him. Or her confident strides in his direction. Or the predatory gleam in her eye. He also isn’t expecting her to shove him against the wall, pull his head down to hers, and snog him with such intensity he only manages a weak moan before apparating them both to his flat.

They land with a soft _pop_ and pick up right where they left off.

Naturally, Ginny is drunker than him. _So much_ drunker. So drunk she’s reverted to giggles and wandering hands and whispering dirty things into his ear, but not so drunk that she’s unaware of what she wants.

She crouches down in front of Harry and takes his trousers off the second they enter his bedroom. He knows where this is going. Although the physical part of their relationship is technically just a year old, she’s done ___that___ countless times. (And yes, she always swallows. As if there were any doubt.)

But Harry hates coming alone unless he truly can’t help it. It reminds him too much of sweltering summer days locked in a bedroom, days with absolutely nothing else to do.

So he gently pulls her head away several minutes later, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I...” His pleading eyes meet hers. “I don’t want to—”

Ginny rises with an understanding smile.

“It’s ok.” She presses a firewhiskey kiss to his lips before leaning in to whisper, “Fuck me instead.”

Harry moans as his eyes turn skyward — but even then, he doesn’t put the pieces together. He doesn’t fully realize that she’s being literal. It’s all he can do to usher her over to the bed as quickly as possible, although he briefly has doubts he’ll even make it there.

Ginny’s two steps ahead. Per usual.

With a wink over a freckled shoulder, she bends at the waist, her feet firmly planted. They haven’t been doing this long enough for him to keep a level head, not at first. He has to close his eyes each time he slides into her, focusing on anything else. On ___everything___ else. He can’t bear to watch her eyes flutter shut as she adjusts, to watch himself disappear inside her, inch by inch. Ginny likes staring at his face during this first part, though. He wonders if she takes satisfaction knowing that he almost comes, every single time.

Then, achingly — finally — he starts moving, and he knows Ginny likes this part ___better___. And even if she hadn’t admitted as much, he’d have gotten it on his own: He hears pleasure in the way her breath hitches in her throat. He feels it in the way she tightens from deep inside, wrapping him in liquid heat. When he finally opens his eyes, he sees pleasure in the flush that darkens her skin until her freckles look like chocolate on a strawberry.

But tonight, she can’t wait — and truth be told, neither can he. Ginny pushes back with an even, rocking rhythm, and Harry can’t be bothered to slow her down. He just sets his jaw, regretting that he already needs to slam his eyes shut again; somehow, he always forgets how good ___this___ is. How good ___she___ is.

Tonight, though, they’re eager. _Too_ eager.

Their pace grows ragged, their breathing labored, and Harry knows they’re both getting close. But between her inebriation and their enthusiasm, something ___new___ happens. Something that shifts Harry’s understanding of what love looks like.

Just as he reaches out to grab her hip, Ginny swivels, pivoting on his cock. For years to come, he’ll always remember the sight of the firelight dancing across her sweat-glistened thighs... the split-second before his wayward hand smacks her. Right on the arse.

“_Ohmygod_,” Harry blurts, pulling back as if she’s shocked him. “I’m _so_ sorr—“

“Do it again.”

He stares at the smattering of freckles just above the dimples on her arse — the ones he’s long since realized are the exact size of his thumbprints. He must have misunderstood her. Hitting is a _bad _thing, isn’t it?

“Erm... I—“

Ginny cuts him off with a sharp look from over her shoulder. “I said,” she repeats, her eyes heavy-lidded. “_Do it again_.”

And Harry Potter has never been one to back down from a challenge.

He meets her dead in the eye, raises a shaking hand... and slaps her.

Right on the arse.

Just as she’s asked.

Instead of recoiling or backing away or acting the slightest bit affronted, Ginny moans as his palm bounces off the creamy skin of her bum. “Ohhh...” She rocks back. “Again. _Please_, Harry.”

He shudders, trying to keep it together, trying to compete with the warring sensations of guilt and pleasure creeping up his chest, trying to—

“Again!” Ginny repeats with an impatient swivel of her hips. Although his hand shakes and his conscience screams, Harry will be damned if he doesn’t comply. Again. _And again_.

Soon, the flat is filled with the sounds of their heaving pants, the sound of his hand slapping against her arse, the sound of his — _bollocks._

Harry lets out a panting moan, gritting his teeth. “Ginny,” he warns, his voice low, “I _can’t_... you’ve got to—“

“___—__no_!” she moans, her fingers dancing across her clit. “Keep going, please Harry... harder...” Her voice reaches a higher crescendo, but he’s struggling to keep it together, sure he’s going to—

___“Fuccckkkk!”___ she finally cries out, just as his palm lands on her arse a final time. And then she’s rippling, squeezing around him, her muscles moving in the same rhythm of her soft exhales. Normally he loves rocking her through it, loves feeling her let go, loves staring at her as she shatters.

But tonight, it’s too much. Tonight, he fucking _can’t._

All Harry can do is try to remain upright. He grips her hips and chokes out her name as stars erupt behind his eyes. He releases a primal groan, his cock pulsing so deeply he’s certain he leaves his body, just for a bit.

His legs grow weak even before he’s finished, but, like always, Ginny knows what he wants; she knows what he _needs_. He gives a bleary blink as her arms wrap around him, pulling him against her chest and guiding them both to the bed.

For several minutes, they lie there, sated and panting, their breathing growing steady. Harry focuses on the way her breasts rise and fall, on her hair that smells like flowers… and can almost convince himself it’s the same. That they aren’t doing _anything_ different. That this is how it always goes, after they shag, and that what happened while they were doing it doesn’t matter so much.

But Ginny must sense his residual discomfort, because a little while later, she brings it up.

“You know I _wanted_ that,” she murmurs on the barest hint of a slur. She props herself on her elbow and meets his eyes. “Right?”

Harry smiles, pushing her hair away from her face. “Well I ‘spose you found a way to let me know. One way or another.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “What tipped you off, Harry? The screaming or the begging?”

He swallows, his right hand coming up to play with her hair. “I guess I... just wasn’t expecting to...”

“Slap me on the arse?”

Harry chuckles, but she’s addressed the hippogriff in the room. There’s a beat as his face grows serious. To keep himself from fidgeting, he caresses the smooth skin above her ribcage.

“Ginny.” He stares at her again, his voice shaking with something he doesn’t fully understand. “You _know_ I’d never want to hurt you. Or make you unhappy, even a little. Or—“

“—Harry,” she cuts across, blinking. “You can’t _possibly_ believe I didn’t want that.”

He swallows. “Well I know you did, but I can’t help thinking it’s like...” He trails off with a vague hand gesture, hoping she fills in the blanks. Hoping his silence says what his voice cannot.

He’s in luck.

“Like Tom?” Ginny responds, as casually as if she’s discussing laundry.

He gives her an apologetic shrug, but he doesn’t know how to broach this. Ginny doesn’t talk about Tom, but Harry knows he crosses her mind, every now and again. It happens randomly, and mostly in public. Once, it happened when Ginny saw an heirloom diary in a shop; once when she heard of a possession on the wireless. The trigger changes, but her reaction stays the same. Tom shows himself in a pinched wrinkle between Ginny’s eyebrows. A subtle wince. A shifting of her weight as she steers the conversation away. Or at least Tom _used_ to appear that way, until Harry figured out that she feels better if he holds her hand. Or tells her that he loves her. Or lets his fingers dance on the small of her back.

“Did I look even a little upset?” she asks, trailing her nail along his chest. “Has _anything_ I’ve done tonight made you think I was unhappy?”

“No,” he admits, the skin of his chest erupting in gooseflesh.

“I ‘spose that’s good to know,” Ginny murmurs, shifting until her lips are near his jaw. “Because _I _certainly wasn’t thinking of anyone else. While you fucked me.”

Harry shudders as her lips shift to his ear. “I don’t know _what’s_ gotten into you tonight,” he barely manages as her tongue begins doing delightful things against his neck.

Ginny stops and pulls back, a smirk dangling from her lips. “Not nice to call yourself _what_, darling."

He playfully rolls his eyes, about to bite back that he hadn't heard her complaining, but thankfully, she also understands when he needs to talk. When another shag won’t be enough to answer the lingering questions.

So Ginny rises to kneel beside him on the bed and just peers at him for a moment, cocking her head. Harry’s not sure if he’s dizzier from the alcohol or the dusting of freckles across her chest. Either way, he’s glad when she draws a breath, presumably to gather the soberest thoughts she can. Harry can’t help but appreciate how utterly unselfconscious she is, even stark naked.

“It’s like this,” she starts a moment later. Her eyes flit to his. “I love it when we... _you know_.”

“I _do _know.”

She ignores this. “But Harry… you know you can _actually_ fuck me. Practically whenever you want.”

Now she's got to be taking the piss. “I thought we _had_ been—?”

“—Oh we have,” she rushes to agree, “and it’s been amazing, Harry, don’t get me wrong. But...” She bites her lip. “You don’t always have to be all slow and gentle and tender and sweet.” There’s a pause followed by an endearing little, “_Ok_?”

Harry chuckles as his hand caresses her knee. All right, then. If that's all it is. In truth, he doesn’t care _how_ she wants him — as long as she does. As long as she’s happy, he’s happy. But he’d never want to go too far. He’d never want to hurt her.

He clears his throat. “I guess... I’d never realized you’d be. Erm. _Into _that. More than I would.”

Ginny shrugs. The movement does fascinating things to her chest. “I wouldn’t mind it a bit rougher. Now and again.”

She says it nonchalantly, shifting her weight... but the pink spots on her cheeks tell him she’s given this more thought than she’s letting on. _Merlin_. Harry gives her an appreciative stare, suddenly caught between feeling guilty and turned on that she’s considered this so thoroughly. He's never once imagined that _he’s _been the one to set the tone of sex that’s slow and aching and sultry.

“Well,” Harry says fairly. “I think it’s pretty clear I’ve still got no bloody clue what I’m doing here. So I’ll rely on you to, erm. Let me know. When you want that.”

Ginny smiles and returns to her place at his side. Then she coyly peers up at him, her chin resting on his chest. “Luckily for you, I’m not exactly the Sorceress of Subtlety.”

He lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank Merlin! I’ve heard that one’s a _dreadful_ shag.”

Ginny giggles against his neck, nuzzling in deeper, and just like that, they settle into a heavy, contented silence. And as Harry falls asleep, breathing in the smell of her hair, he realizes — once and for all — that fucking and making love are both perfectly fine with him... as long as he gets to do them with _her_.


End file.
